


Fine

by MissS



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bottom Obi-Wan Kenobi, Clone Wars vignettes, Established Relationship, M/M, Smut, Top Anakin Skywalker, Topping from the Bottom, did you expect anything less from me?, post-whump, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissS/pseuds/MissS
Summary: "But this is what they have, stolen moments in cramped quarters and washing each other’s blood off their hands and out of their clothes. It’s a terrible way to love someone, secretly, in quiet moments between traumas, with no direction and no promise of more than what they already have."
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 229





	Fine

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of written as a vignette in the aftermath of a previous oneshot I wrote called Until The Lesson is Learned. I don't really have the consistency or an idea inspiring enough to write something with multiple chapters, but the angst associated with how this relationship would play out in a relatively canon setting always inspires me to imagine these little vignettes.

“I told you, I’m fine.” Obi-Wan mutters around a mouthful of tasteless mess hall mush, the kind you can tune out easily after eating it day after day, until you really start thinking about it and consider gagging on the texture alone.

Anakin sits across from him, his meal uneaten barring the artful pathway he had carved through it with his utensils, prosthetic hand balled in a fist supporting his chin as he glowers across at Obi-Wan “Not sure that’s your call to make, master. You hobbled out of that council briefing. _Hobbled_.” he hisses out the last word in his sentence, gesticulating with both hands when words don’t adequately express his exasperation.

They’ve come to blows before in the company of their clones, over where to move what troops, and who will do the boring sneaking around while the other storms in the front entrance. They do their best to keep a united front, but they can’t help but squabble occasionally beyond the teasing and good natured banter, more so in view of Cody and Rex who are privy to more than they probably should be, if Anakin is honest. But in this moment, he’s willing to come to blows with Obi-Wan in front of the entirety of the 501st if he has to, right there in the mess hall.

It’s been three weeks since Obi-Wan fell from a troop transport on some godforsaken planet, three weeks since Anakin extricated his body from the trench it dug itself in the moist ground of whatever backwater place the enemy forces had determined was of strategic value. Three weeks and some odd days since Anakin found his way into Obi-Wan’s quarters in the middle of the night, and into a bunk not meant for two full sized men.

Obi-Wan injures himself often enough for Anakin to anticipate the bout of insomnia it triggers in him. He takes to walks during the evening cycle, often during the wee hours of the morning, with only mouse droids and the skeleton crew of clones making up the evening shift as his company. So that’s not to say he hasn’t walked _by_ Obi-Wan’s quarters, but certainly not _into_ Obi-Wan’s quarters. First, because Obi-Wan was suspended in a bacta tank and there was nothing he wanted that those empty quarters held, and secondly, because he remains convinced that just because Obi-Wan has escaped death three weeks ago doesn’t mean he is fully recovered by any stretch of anyone’s imagination. Which is why the impending arrival of a shuttle from the Negotiator to return the 212th’s general to their service has caused this scene in the mess hall.

Anakin still isn’t certain how he developed a reputation as a troublemaker and risk taker, when Obi-Wan has become downright reckless as the war has progressed. It’s only through sheer luck that Anakin has been kissed by the Force and named it’s child, so he can perform death-defying rescues to make up for Obi-Wan’s absolute lack of self preservation, afford to lend his strength to Obi-Wan who reaches for it as easily as he inhales air and expects to be able to breathe.

Even now, watching him meticulously chew his pre-digested mess hall mush, Anakin almost chuckles because the act of consuming the meal is equal to taking ones life into ones own hands. He’s not sure what’s in the stuff, but as a man with the ability to and history of killing, he would do so in a heartbeat for a decent meal with some kick to it and some sort of ale (any ale, really.) While Rex and company seem to accept the bland fare served in the mess hall, Anakin is fairly certain that his commander would rally the entirety of the 501st if his general set course for some decent ale.

This argument? Entirely based off of the fact that Obi-Wan had been flirting with him blatantly for days, ever since the medics cleared him to return to duty. He wasn’t a fool, Anakin’s mind always wandered close to Obi-Wan’s no matter where they were, and Obi-Wan knew he got like this. Knew he had been walking past his quarters for the last three nights at horrifically odd hours and had been refusing the impression of Obi-Wan’s soft query at the boundary of their minds. It had progressed from ‘Come to bed.’ to ‘Come to bed, you idiot.’ to a wordless gust of frustration and underlying lust. But after seeing a brief hitch in his gait whilst leaving the communications centre after a report via holo to the council, Anakin knows he was right to rebuff him, and they are at an impasse because he will not allow him onto that shuttle and he most certainly will not indulge Obi-Wan’s invitations…because it has been nearly a standard month, and he will not be able to control himself in a small bunk with Obi-Wan all sleepily wrapped around him.

Obi-Wan lays down his utensils and sighs “Anakin, how many times have I told you, since that business on Cato Nemodia I get a little stiff standing still for too long, I stay limber with regular movement-” Anakin interrupts him by leaning forward for dramatic effect, hissing under his breath with what little control he has left (and oh, does Obi-Wan test that control) “Movement?! I’m going to do more than give your hip some movement, it’s been a fucking month!” and then those obnoxiously familiar little lines around Obi-Wan’s eyes begin to crinkle, his hand comes up to brush against the ruddy whiskers he’s been sporting since he decided that he looked to young to be Anakin’s master, a general, and not to mention a member of the Jedi council. And he begins to laugh, strangled and under his breath, was that even a snort?

But it’s not funny, not to Anakin. It’s not about his sexual frustration (okay, so maybe it’s a little bit about that…), or how cold the climate control makes his quarters in the dark cycle and how desperately he wishes to be crammed into one bunk with Obi-Wan instead of curled in on himself “Master, I pulled you out of a crater you dug with your own body.” he grinds out, jaw set and brow furrowed, eyes darting down to stare unseeingly into his plate of mush. Except he is seeing, seeing the strange twist to Obi-Wan’s limbs and the dark stain of blood in his hair, the soot and dirt obscuring the freckles that peek out from behind his beard that you can see only if you’re close enough to kiss him. The way his tunic, or what was left of it, had skewed on his torso leaving the milky white skin of his collarbone exposed like a patch of untouched snow in the middle of a war zone.

Obi-Wan manages to choke off the last few of his chuckles, sobering significantly. He was quiet, as Anakin’s mouth worked over words he couldn’t say aloud, struck mute as his hands balled into fists in his lap and shook with the effort of controlling himself. Controlling what? He isn’t sure, isn’t sure if he wants to shout or scream or put his fists through a wall or take Obi-Wan by his shoulders and shake him.

He doesn’t move, just continues to stare at the clinical white tabletop as Obi-Wan reaches out to swoop away his relatively uneaten meal tray and stands, leaving him to graciously thank the clone handling the meal cleanup as he passes over their trays. He talks to the nameless man like he knows him, but he always does, Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to lose sense of the individuality of clones even with their shared faces. It’s something Anakin…likes. That makes his chest feel full when he sees the light of recognition in Obi-Wan’s eyes when he catches a familiar face within a sea of familiar faces, when he sees him placing a hand on the shoulder of a man with fresh armour boarding a troop transport for the first time. Thinks if more people treated slave boys the way Obi-Wan treats clones, Tatooine would have been an easier place to grow up.

He feels Obi-Wan’s hand settle on his shoulder now, weighty and reassuring, before he hears him murmur “Shall we go look over those reports?” it’s an out, a peace offering, and he wills his clenched hands to uncurl as he goes to stand. As Obi-Wan starts off across the mess hall, Anakin blindly follows, barely hearing the way his master deflects a greeting or two from older members of the 501st that he had come to know well.

They make their way to a lift, Anakin nodding absently and feigning eye contact with a few clones, thankful their focus is on Obi-Wan who steers the conversations and keeps them brief. The lift doors finally close and it’s Obi-Wan who punches in the sequence for some level or another before he turns around and shoves Anakin bodily against the wall, giving Anakin no time to even startle before their mouths meet. It’s not gentle, it’s frustrated and desperate and it’s reaching Anakin in the depths of his fear and if he ever needs to be resuscitated he hopes someone lets Obi-Wan employ this technique, because for the first time in weeks he feels like he might actually be alive.

He’s got one hand fisted in the front of Obi-Wan’s robes and the other tangled in his hair that’s grown a little longer than usual, and when they part for air he’s reluctant because this is the first time in weeks where there isn’t a single thing in the galaxy that could rip Obi-Wan from his hands and that’s all he needs. To close his hands around him, to have, to hold. The lift chimes a warning that they’re nearing their level and the tell-tale way his stomach swims says they’re reducing speed “It’ll just be for a minute, we’re almost there.” Obi-Wan murmurs like he’s in his head, because he knows Anakin well enough to know that the whir of his prosthetic working in overdrive to cling to Obi-Wan’s robes carries enough strength to tear, and that fighting his grip isn’t the answer. Instead he placates Anakin with promises of more, so Anakin lets go. And then Obi-Wan is running his hand through his own hair like he does when he’s exhausted and beyond frustrated, lips looking kiss-stung and he doesn’t even straighten the creases in the front of his robe from Anakin’s clenched fist before he exits the lift with the purpose of a man on a council-ordained mission. Anakin trails behind him, as he has been for over a decade.

They round a corner and thankfully there’s no one in sight, it’s near a meal and the wing of sleeping quarters for upper officers is deserted as others go about their business. Obi-Wan’s assigned quarters aren’t far from the lift and he palms the controls to open the doorway before he physically pulls Anakin into the small room by the front of his robes. He waves a hand in a casual display of Force usage (which Anakin would have squawked over at any other time, as catching Obi-Wan in the midst of hypocrisy could be counted as one of his favourite pastimes) to shut the door and then both fists are in the front of Anakin’s robes and he gives him a shake “You don’t get to decide if I’m alright. That’s not your call!” and Anakin can only blink owlishly at his once master’s infuriated expression and the way his teeth are clenched.

“I’m not an idiot, Anakin. You’ve been haunting my hallway for nights now but you don’t come to me, you haven’t been sleeping, and I can’t keep track of you on this fucking ship because for once in your life you’ve decided to do your duty. Come off it, Anakin. I know myself well enough to know that I am perfectly capable of returning to the 212th.”

And that’s all Anakin needs for his hackles to rise and his heart rate to speed, he knows his temper makes him easy to rile but Obi-Wan is just as likely nowadays to take advantage of that knowledge as he is to admonish him for it. He has denied him night after night, but if he lights a fire in his veins and pushes Anakin to lose control, he won't have the strength to deny him again. Maybe it’s what makes this exciting, maybe a little combat in words and actions is what makes them what they are. Obi-Wan, controlled but equal in strength and in wit, able to withstand the brutal onslaught of all that is Anakin, even welcoming it. While a little of his ire is pent up stress, there’s a stale taste in the back of his mouth like he’s choking up the words reluctantly from the bottom of his stomach (or his heart, that’s probably where the words with feelings come from) “You almost died, you know that? Again, Obi-Wan. You keep throwing yourself off of transports or springing traps and expecting me to cobble you back together!”

His chest is heaving and he’s pretty sure he’s on a roll because Obi-Wan’s grip is lessening and he’s shrunk a good inch in height since Anakin’s mention of his mortality, and the blue of his eyes isn't quite so stormy anymore, regarding Anakin thoughtfully, but the words have started spilling out and they just keep spilling “You make me practice holding you in my arms as you try to fucking die on me again and again. It’s not fair, Obi-Wan.” he breaths, hand coming to cup Obi-Wan’s jaw, searching his face for something he can’t find, or maybe just to impress on his memory the way he looks under horrific artificial lighting in a room so cramped it’s nothing more than a glorified closet.

But this is what they have, stolen moments in cramped quarters and washing each other’s blood off their hands and out of their clothes. It’s a terrible way to love someone, secretly, in quiet moments between traumas, with no direction and no promise of more than what they already have. Because wars eventually come to an end, and then Obi-Wan will return to his seat on the council, participating in negotiations and glamorous state dinners on planets with beautiful women and men and creatures who are neither. Anakin will find himself shackled to a padawan, a walking cock-block who will share a space in his mind and heart, he will be busy teaching and defending cargo against smugglers on minor missions in inconsequential star systems far from Obi-Wan.

“There’s a while yet.” Obi-Wan murmurs, tilting his head to press a kiss to the heel of Anakin’s hand.

“Get out of my head.”

A quiet huff “Well if you would only quiet your mind and not think so damn loud, I wouldn’t-” and Anakin cuts him off with a kiss, knowing it's what Obi-Wan wanted all along. His lips are plaint and warm, willing, because he’ll be back to his own flagship shortly and will fill his evenings with strategies and logistics and a datapad filled with reports to catch up on from council meetings he isn’t able to attend in person. Anakin will spend his days narrowly avoiding galactic catastrophes and gallivanting through space without the human embodiment of self control to keep him in check, after battles called successful but riddled with losses he’ll nurse a drink alongside Rex, instead of stealing the taste of foreign ale and other poor substitutes off of Obi-Wan’s tongue at the end of the night. There will be no end in sight until a small line of text in a briefing names the 501st and 212th in the same sentence, and they’ll both feel the same pull in the pit of their stomachs. 

There isn’t much of a point of elaborating beyond what they’ve already said and not said at all, and there’s little to do to solve the swords hanging over their heads. So Anakin finds his hand seeking skin and his fingers drifting from Obi-Wan’s jaw into his hair, angling so he can kiss him more thoroughly, the words swallowed down in that kiss. He doesn’t need them anymore, anyway.

Anakin feels the edges begin to blur in his mind, the sharpness mellowing as the boundaries become less defined. Obi-Wan is vibrant in his mind, louder than the white noise of his head, and the feeling when his breath hitches as Anakin’s prosthesis wanders from his lower back downward, grasping firmly in an effort to pull him closer, the curl of toes in well-worn boots, is more Obi-Wan’s sensations than his. Sometimes it’s hard to know where he ends.

Obi-Wan huffs a pleased laugh at the way Anakin paws at his robes and they disentangle to hurriedly undress. It will be too long before they have the chance to again, and they tire quickly of making out and grinding against one another like padawans stealing relief. There will be time for quick fucks and pants around thighs, but there’s never enough time to map the constellations of Obi-Wan’s freckles across the breadth of his back, to catalogue the little galaxies on his skin…but even if Anakin had that kind of time, he gets so easily distracted when Obi-Wan is naked.

It’s Obi-Wan who settles down on the bunk and Anakin who follows, hovering over him to press a kiss to his lips, the scruff along his jaw, the neck, collarbone, suckling hard enough to leave a mark, urged forward by his master’s roaming hands “A-Anakin…” Obi-Wan’s voice trails off in a moan as Anakin’s hand lazily wanders to his cock to stroke it slowly, momentarily distracted from the nipple he was lavishing attention on. Then Obi-Wan is grasping for something and Anakin doesn’t care because he’s hard and leaking in his hand, and he wants to do this for Obi-Wan, wants his master to feel good. For once, something he can do for Obi-Wan. Be gentle, take care.

Their hands tangle over Obi-Wan’s erection and he feels the slickness Obi-Wan coats his hand in, his other tangling in Anakin’s hair to draw him up into a kiss “We don’t have long.” and Anakin sighs against his lips “We never have long. Let me take care of you.” he tries to be convincing, but Obi-Wan is lifting his knees and urging him onward with whispered pleading, and all Anakin can do is shake his head because for all the accolades his master has amassed none is as impressive as how Obi-Wan Kenobi could be lying prostrate and still be calling the shots.

His fingers wander further down, pressing into the vulnerable heat of him. He feels Obi-Wan draw a breath and hold it, exhaling shakily as his body gives to Anakin’s insistent pressure, and he murmurs encouragement and appreciation under his breath as he presses into Obi-Wan’s mind the feeling of his own body tightening periodically around his finger, the suggestion of what it will feel like around his cock. There’s a flush to Obi-Wan’s cheeks and so he begins to stretch him in earnest, smirking when Obi-Wan’s jaw goes slack while every other muscle does the opposite. He’s reduced to the occasional mewl and moan, hand wandering to stroke himself, and Anakin’s voice is rough in his ears “Fuck, you’re a mess.” because nobody gets to see Obi-Wan come undone other than him, and he likes that, likes to remind him when he loses control as he does it so infrequently.

“I- I think you like it.” Obi-Wan breathes, back arching and hips canting to catch the right angle as Anakin’s fingers work him open, eyelids at half-mast over pupils blown wide, staring up at Anakin like some lewd work of art. He can only hiss “Yes.” as an answer, because Obi-Wan is palming his erection and sighing at the loss of Anakin’s fingers as he shifts away, and he doesn’t know where he’s going but all he knows is that he wants him close. Not far away, he’ll be far away soon enough, all he wants is to put his hands on him and hold him and breathe the air he breaths and feel him quivering inside and out as he finishes. In moments like this the need to have is consuming, he knows only his own name and every inch of Obi-Wan’s body and the things he might like to do with it, he cares little for the war or supply inventories or men lost and planets gained.

And then Obi-Wan has this absolutely brilliant idea he splashes over Anakin’s mind that leaves Anakin scrambling to lean his back against the wall at the head of the bunk, dragging discarded garments and bedding behind his back, as Obi-Wan draws back for a moment before settling himself astride Anakin’s lap. He wants to be gentle, he really does, but he’s overwhelmed by the way Obi-Wan doesn’t want that at all, disagreeing even in this. There’s an insistent mouth on his as a hand steadies him and then everything is tightandhotandmoremoremore. He wants to ask him if he’s hurting, is this alright, is he alright and oh, the feedback loop of Obi-Wan's satisfaction bleeding into his mind is making it hard to ask the important questions.

“I’m fine.” Obi-Wan bites out, as he feels skin hit skin and Obi-Wan settle fully into his lap. The view leaves nothing left to be desired, copper hair a mess, lips parted, skin flushed, fresh scar tissue like hyperspace lanes across his skin. 

“Prove it.”

And he does, leaves Anakin without self control and with only the urge to roll his hips in answer to every time Obi-Wan lifts and lowers his body, leaves him gasping and sticky with solar storms dancing behind his eyes as the proof. Anakin leaves him with a bruise on his left hip from the way his prosthesis drags Obi-Wan's body down to meet his, and a couple of dark marks on his collarbone where he's sure to catch sight of them in the 'fresher mirror. At least those will be allowed to linger long after he's parsecs away, longer than the time Anakin has to hold him, sated and self-satisfied, after he comes.

When they're laying in a heap afterward, a mess of limbs and recovering heartrates, Obi-Wan lifts his head from his shoulder to smirk "Told you so." and Anakin decides that he will believe him, even if it's not true, because he won't be able to let him board that shuttle otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and maybe it says something about my subconscious that it ends in something smutty. *shrugs*


End file.
